


Scenes of Submission

by soyranger



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cockwarming, Collars, Dom Shiro (Voltron), Dom/sub, Gags, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sub Keith (Voltron), Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyranger/pseuds/soyranger
Summary: Different unrelated scenes of submission - sometimes Shiro, sometimes Keith - gentle to not so gentle, canon compliant and otherwise. Updates when inspiration strikes.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 105





	Scenes of Submission

Keith wakes alone in bed. He sweeps his arm in a lazy arc, and rumbles when he feels the last traces of sleep warmth on Shiro’s side. Without opening his eyes, he rolls over and buries his nose in his husband’s pillow, inhaling deeply.

The heady scent of him settles deep in Keith’s lungs. His hips do a sleepy little roll into the sheets as heat meanders its way down to his belly.

Hm.

Keith blearily remembers this morning, he supposes. Shiro had kissed his neck gently, sweetly, apologizing against his skin for being unable to stay, and imploring him to get the rest he deserved. He had come home from a mission with the Blades last night, and while it wasn’t the longest he’d been on yet, he had missed Shiro dearly and Shiro him. But an Admiral’s day was long and they had both been tired. After one (1) intense round of sex, they had fallen asleep.

He stretches long and fully, curling his toes, rolling his wrists, arching a little off the bed, unable to stop a groan erupting from his chest. He’s allowed himself a whole day of nothing to do. He blinks and looks around, pleasantly peaceful, taking in the small details of his and Shiro’s life together – yesterday’s clothes shed (as neatly as impatience allowed) on the vanity chair nobody ever sat on, they keys of their hoverbikes hanging from a hand carved keyholder by the door, various products on the dresser. Shiro had a self-pampering vice that could rival Lance’s, but it was one of those things he never really hid but no one seemed to know.

Except Keith.

He sighs through his nose as his hips do a mindless little roll again. He could tackle the laundry list of things he wants and/or should be doing whenever he’s on Earth, but honestly, he wants to spend the entire day with Shiro.

Unlike Keith, though, Shiro could not block his day off. In fact, he has several meetings with various dignitaries from different planets and alliances discussing a lot of things over many video calls. He’s going to be cooped up in his office most of the day, poor thing. No matter, presence will suffice.

Keith eyes their bedside drawer before taking a couple of things from it, putting some on and hoping Shiro was alone while he makes a call.

“Good morning, baby,” Shiro beams, his hand paused mid-write. Simply in the middle of paperwork then.

“G’morning,” Keith rasps, the final tethers of sleep still yet to be shaken loose. “Were you busy?”

“No. I was just going over some trade agreements. No conference call until another hour. What are you planning to do today?”

Keith shakes his head. “Nothing. Want to spend it with you.” He feels that the morning haze won’t leave him for the day and he’s fine with that. “Can I?”

He sees the way Shiro’s eyes darken when they take in what Keith has put on – his collar – simple, elegant leather, charmingly worn and shined with all their play – then to what he’s holding up in view of the camera – a more recently acquired O-ring gag eager for more use.

“Yes, yes you can, baby,” Shiro breathes out, almost inaudible. “Let me put it on?”

Keith smirks. “Lemme get dressed and I’ll be over, yeah?”

“Can’t wait.”

\- - - 

Fifteen minutes later, Keith shuts the door to the Admiral’s Office behind him. Shiro turns in his chair, smiling sweetly and pats his thighs. Keith immediately goes and straddles them, sighing luxuriously when Shiro dips his hands under his shirt to run them all over his back.

“Look at you,” he says, thumbing at the collar, to the rise of Keith’s cheekbone before carding his fingers through his hair. Keith preens.

They meet each other halfway for a kiss. The first is chaste, closed lips upon closed lips. The second, third, fourth are increasingly sloppier, hungrier. Keith can taste the tuna sandwich Shiro had for brunch, and the tea cooling on his desk. Shiro chases the taste of toothpaste to the roof of Keith’s mouth, and sucks on his tongue until he keens and pulls away, panting.

“Don’t you have a video call soon?” Keith asks, eyes dark.

Shiro laughs and takes the ring gag handed to him. “Tell me if it’s too tight, alright?”

Keith hums. Shiro always asks even if there’s no way he’ll tie anything too tight for him. He sets the ring behind his teeth and closes his eyes as he feels Shiro drag his fingers reverently on his collar once more, buckling the strap behind his head. Something settles in Keith once Shiro plants a kiss on his forehead and smooths his hair down.

“Okay?” he asks Keith again, cupping his cheek, which Keith leans into with a little nod.

“Good,” Shiro says and they move. “Under the desk, baby. And keep me warm.”

Keith knows what to do by now. There’s a cushion stashed in one of the more clandestine drawers of the Admiral’s desk. He takes it out and makes himself comfortable, before unzipping Shiro’s slacks and releasing him from the confines of his underwear.

Shiro is a little hard, dry and clean from this morning’s shower with the smallest bead of precum leaking from the head. There was already a bit of drool pooling in Keith’s mouth but he salivates at the sight. He runs his nose and hands over the length of Shiro’s cock. He loves the smell of him, the warmth and the weight.

Carefully, Keith takes the cock into the O of his mouth and rests his head on Shiro’s thigh and settles in for the day.

This used to make him restless. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t quiet his mind, but it was movement that helped him – sparring, hiking, working things with his hands, using his whole body, being outdoors for the outdoors to act upon him, rather than curled up in a small space with wherever his thoughts took him.

He learned with practice, as with many things, to focus on sensations, to acknowledge his desires and let them go. This act is not about him. He was a given a task to warm Shiro’s cock and that’s all he needs to be.

Shiro is softening inside him, but it’s alright. Keith tastes the heady, musky leak of precum and wills his tongue to do nothing more. He breathes in the warm smell of Shiro’s skin, the clean laundry smell of his slacks, ignores the tickle of white curls against his nose. He lets his gaze soften, his hands rest at his sides, and he suckles contentedly at Shiro’s cock.

He listens to the sounds of the office. The hum of Atlas around them, machinery in the room, the shuffling of Shiro’s papers, the nice muted taps of the keyboard and eventually, the calm cadence of Shiro’s voice overhead. It rumbles through his body, into Keith’s mouth and throughout his head. He knows he can tune in to the conversation; it’s most likely important. But his brain can’t process much past sensations and sounds, and he’s very disinclined to move himself from the pleasant haze he’s sunken into. He knows Shiro will tell him afterwards, or bring him up if it’s urgent.

But for now, there’s a familiar ache in his jaw that sends him deep, the freeing feeling of drool slipping past his lips that he doesn't need to worry about. The taste, the weight, the girth of Shiro’s cock in his mouth. The smell and the warmth that makes everything else matter very little, fading from consciousness. All there is is Shiro. It settles warm in his belly, swirls gently up his spine, and spreads a languid, heavy blanket over his thoughts.

It’s quiet here.

\- - -


End file.
